


Mute

by SeaAmber



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Carlotta Autumnvale, Dahlia - Freeform, F/M, Guns, Heterochromatic Eyes, Horses, Mary-Clara Autumnvale, No Smut, No Spoilers, Short One Shot, Subtle Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaAmber/pseuds/SeaAmber
Summary: "I take an unsteady breath, pulling out my gun and twisting it over and over again in my hands, trying to find comfort. If I even remotely mess up this weekend, my horse is . . . oh God, what'll they do to her? Hurt her? Kill her? Would I be able to do anything to stop them? What - when - how-I stop my hands, drop the gun on my bed and enter my closet. I find a simple lavender dress that flairs at the hips and twirls when I walk or spin. I slip my gun into the pocket Dana sowed into the dress for that exact purpose. I look at myself in the mirror, then throw my dad's jacket over it.I stare at my reflection. My dull brown hair. Bizarre eyes. Zero curves or any sort of appealing body shape.Mother has nothing to worry about. No boy would ever find a girl like me attractive. I don't stand a chance."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler or it's characters. I only own the Autumnvale's existence in the borrowed world of Black Butler.

**Mary-Clara’s POV**

I woke to hear my mother screaming at the Cook. Something about overcooking an egg? Though I didn’t like eggs very much, I decided I could at least check on the Cook and make sure he’s okay. But I’d best wait and avoid Mother for the next few hours until she’s calmed down.

Dana, my personal butler, entered the room with my breakfast on a tray. A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Of course: if I didn’t want to go down and eat, she’d bring the food to me.

She’s always trying new styles for her hair: today her long black locks were braided in countless tight plaits, all pulled back with a single rubber band. It hung nearly to the small of her back, and as she’s close to 6 foot, it made her seem even leaner and taller. The maid outfit she was forced to wear on the first day vanished on the second day, and as she managed to get her hands on some butler uniforms, her striking figure only seemed all the more vertical.

She was the only one who could effectively communicate with me, the only one who’d play cards with me and not go easy, the only one who would ride my horse with me on a sunny day and eat sandwiches on a blanket in the middle of nowhere . . . the only one who felt comfortable sharing a silence with me and knowing if something was wrong.

I don’t know what I’d do without her.

She yanked the curtains open, and the sunrise made her honey-gold eyes light up and her dark skin glow. I sat up, letting her set the tray on my lap, and started to wolf down my breakfast as she flung open the wardrobe doors.

She talked as she slowly narrowed down my outfits options for today. “Some decisions were made last night after you went to bed. I’m afraid you’re having guests this afternoon, they’ll be staying the weekend. An Earl is coming to find a new fiance. His previous one recently moved to Australia and being of such high rank, he must choose a new one within the week or his reputation as the Queen’s Guard Dog will be tarnished. He’ll most likely find interest in your sister if she puts up her usual facade. I hope you’ll make a small effort, but don’t try to win him over if the poor boy is already smitten with Carlotta.

“Mistress has decided to send me on a business trip a few towns over for an interview with a potential new butler.  _ Conveniently _ , I won’t be back until nearly midnight, perhaps tomorrow morning. You’re aware Dahlia is due to have her foal any day now, so I know you’ll want to be there to make sure it all goes smoothly and to clean the hay when she’s finished birthing.” She holds up my two outfit options. “Trousers and a lavender shirt, or pants and a brown shirt?”

I stab my fork towards the brown shirt, placing the empty tray on my nightstand more roughly than I intended. It made sense Mother would send Dana away the one weekend I’d need her more than ever. She wouldn’t want me having even the slightest chance of finding the favor of this Queen’s Guard Dog, and getting rid of the  _ only _ person in the mansion that can speak Sign Language significantly lowers my appeal as a potential fiance. 

That didn’t mean I wasn’t upset she had to send Dana away.

I didn’t realize Dana had already braided my hair, but when I did I tore a few strands loose to cover my left eye.

She makes my bed as I dig through my nightstand, filled with papers and stories I’d written when I was younger. Mother tried to throw them away when I used to show them to her, but Dana saved most and stashed them in my nightstand drawer. Plus all the paper helps to hide my gun.

Calm washed over me at the familiar touch of cool metal when my fingers found the barrel. Dana pretended not to notice as I filled each of the cartridges and slip more into my trouser pockets, but I see the faint frown of concern that always appears when it becomes so apparent that I have a fully loaded gun on me at all times. I slip it into the back of my waistband, eyeing Dana’s gun: a glint of metal under her shirt. She hates it but knows how much comfort it brings that she can defend herself if the need arises. Hopefully, it never does, but in this day and age, you never know what’s going to happen.

I signed  _ Thank You _ and walked out, heading down the hall, knowing she’d need to leave soon, and not wanting ‘Goodbye’ to be emotional and pathetic, but I was already internally panicking. How would I get on without her? It’s always been a struggle since I lost my voice when I was younger. Apparently, I screamed so much that I tore my vocal cords when my father was accidentally killed in a horse racing incident. They weren’t able to repair them. It’s odd since I don’t remember it well, but it’s always hard to remember things from long ago the older you get.

How would I get what I need to say across, especially if it’s complicated, like something happening with Dahlia and her baby? Or things get out of hand with the Phantomhive kid, and it’s just one huge ruse to try and . . . do . . .  _ something! _

I shake my head, dispelling the anxious, tormenting thoughts. ‘Everything’s going to be fine,’ I repeat. I need something to distract me. 

My feet lead me to the kitchen. It’s quiet inside, so I assume Mother’s already left. I enter.

Henry is standing at the sink, scrubbing a pan a bit more aggressively than necessary. He’s covered head to toe in a white powder, and I see more of it by the shelves, with a clean spot in the middle, probably where he was standing. An empty bag of flour is crumpled on the ground, and as I reach for it, Henry whips around, soap in hand.

We both freeze, and he relaxes, muttering an apology. “Sorry MC, I thought you were Mistress. She dumped a bag of flour on my head when she didn’t like the way her egg was cooked. I’m sure she’s just stressed about that Phantomhive kid coming over, but it does nothing to release her rage at me in such an absurd manner!” He throws the soap at the pan, infuriated at the injustice of the situation, and water splashed up onto the edge of the sink.

Sympathy overcomes me, and I smile as I brushed flour off of his graying hair. His faded green eyes crinkle, and in one breath his pent-up anger vanishes. 

I start trying to find a broom, but he beats me to it, strongly denying my help. “I’ll shower after cleaning this up, I’m fine. You go.”

I needed something to do, or my thoughts would consume me.

I’m not quite ready to visit Dahlia, so I thought it was time to pay the trophy room a visit.

An old room, with items dating back nearly a century, all important relics in our family. Our family made it’s living in horse races, from actually racing to betting on horses. Father was a racer and scored big time in his life. Mother married for the money, and we were still cruising on his earnings, but I knew we were gradually running out. It was just a matter of time.

The trophy room was dusty, like a museum. I don’t like it here much because I feel so out-of-place, but it’s quiet and most don’t come here, so if a need to breathe in darkness is too strong to ignore, this is the best place.

I wander around, shuffling with deliberate slowness past the items on display. There were faded dolls that my sister used to play with, tea sets from China my grandparents bought, black and white photographs of my cousins and relatives.

My gaze falls on my father’s cane.

I come to a halt in front of the glass case, staring at the simple carving of a horseshoe at the top of the long, polished wooden stick. Dahlia’s father was his favorite horse. He’d ride Flint every day, no matter how busy his schedule was. He’d put me on Flint’s back when I was too little for my own horse, sitting behind me, never going faster than a trot. I still remember the smell of the saddle and his slightly weathered hands holding the reigns on either side of my head, and the bounce of the saddle underneath me.

“I heard your favorite little pet butler would be away for today.”

I spin around, snapped out of my nostalgia by the chime of my sister’s voice.

She wore a loose ruffled dress that hugged her waist, but no corset as far as I could tell. Just two years older than me, she was already well into developing curves. Her silky blonde hair was piled in an ironically perfect messy bun on the top of her head. Chocolate brown eyes stared into mine. A coy grin played on her lips, saving her ‘genuine’ smile for those who would give her praise. 

And then there’s me. With a plain face smattered in freckled and dull brown hair. Wearing trousers, a tattered shirt, and father’s old jacket. One brown eye, one crystal blue. They would have been pretty, had they not been mixed up. Had I any particular talents, I might be able to make a living for myself. However, as I don’t, I’ll have to rely on marriage to keep myself supported. But it’s no secret I’m nothing attractive, both physically and personality wise.

“Aww, does the outcast feel lonely?” Carlotta smirks. “What, come to suffer by surrounding yourself with the things you don’t deserve?”

I remain silent.

“What, nothing to say?” She tosses her head back in a cold laugh. “Oh, right. Shame, really. No man would ever love a disabled creature like you, who can’t even utter the words ‘I love you’ back!”

I can’t answer, can’t defend myself in an argument. She refused to learn sign language so she could mock and irritate me. I’ve tried to communicate through Dana, but she’d figured it out and only speaks to me directly when Dana isn’t there to translate. Any argument deemed important enough is relayed to Mother, who always takes Carlotta’s side; for obvious reasons. She loves only her and her alone.

I clench my fists, trying to stop them from trembling. She’s right, though. Who would ever love a girl like me, with my kind of problems? 

I raise my jaw, spinning to point to father’s cane.

Her smirk vanishes, a scowl taking its place. “Oh. I see.” She snarls. “You mean to tell me that  _ he _ loved you, don’t you?”

I lift my chin up and nod bravely.

Electricity explodes through my cheek, stunning me so strikingly that I couldn’t focus enough to turn my head to look at her as she lost it.

“You think he loved you? He never loved anyone but Mum and me - you were just a mistake. You didn’t deserve his love, you bloody useless freak!” She starts to cry, speaking furiously through her tears.

A different kind of trembling shakes my hands, and the sudden urge to feel the cool metal of my gun under my sweaty palms nearly consumes me. I’m glad now I can’t see her face, for the urge would undoubtedly become too strong to keep at bay. 

“What have you done!? My makeup is running! I’ll have to do it all over again. You purposefully made me upset! You’re trying to sabotage my chance at a wonderful, wealthy life as the wife of the Queen’s Guard Dog! Well, it’ll never work - there’s no way anyone, especially not a high-society Earl, would take a mute as his wife! Because that’s all you are, and all you’ll ever be: a stupid, filthy mute!”

The rapid, sharp, clicking sound of her heels on the wooden floor fades, but the stinging in my eyes and cheek do not. I focus on filling and emptying my lungs, resisting the desire to finger my gun and find comfort again.

I need to keep moving. If I give myself a chance to think, I don’t know what crazy things my mind would tell my body to do.

I mourn for that poor Earl.


	2. Chapter 2

I head outside, taking the shortcut through a small patch of trees to get to the stables. Did Dahlia had her foal during the night? Had everything gone smoothly? Is he - or she - healthy? Is Dahlia healthy? Are they both alive? Are they both dead? Did they get food and water? I know we have someone to take care of the horses, but Mother sold most of them after father died, having no need for them. I managed to persuade her in her grief to keep Dahlia, Flint and a few stallions, explaining how they were a symbol of his deep love of horses, and keeping them would, in turn, respect his memory. Sadly, Flint passed not long afterward, and the stallions were never properly trained, so no one can ride them. I always see them in the pasture grazing or trotting around each other. One must be the father, but I don't know which.

I jog through the door to Dahlia's pen. She perks her head up as I approach and sniffs me delicately. I look into her big brown eyes, petting the white blaze on her muzzle. A Thoroughbred, her walnut coat gleams and her hair falls in my face, making us both snort. She tosses back her head as I unlock the pen door, guiding her to the grooming area and properly cleaning her hide.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze, her bulging belly taking up the majority of the little room, not leaving me a lot of space to work with. But I managed and replaced the hay in her pen before leading her back into it. I just sat there with her for a little while, stroking her head and breathing in the heavy scent of the barn.

I've known her since she was a foal, growing up with her as  _my_  horse. I got into the habit of coming every day to take care of her. It took some hard work but she accepted that I can't speak to her and have to rely on her instincts as well as my own if we take a wrong turn or get lost on a trail. It's never happened before, but I still had to learn to guide her without my voice. She learned to be constantly aware of the reigns and now turns at the slightest movement of my hands.

It's wonderful to ride her. I haven't since I realized that her growing belly was holding a baby horse, but I can remember the feeling I got when I never had to say a word to her: it was like a ball was filling with golden light in my chest. I can't wait to ride her again, and care for her foal, and train it, and see them both happy and healthy - my heart longs for it with a strength words could never justice.

Of course, I had to leave eventually to get ready for the arrival of the Earl, but I looked into her eyes and let her know I'd be back later tonight to check in again.

I went to my favorite place, that only a few of the most trust-worthy butlers and myself know about. A special clearing to practice our shooting. I stand in the middle of the clearing, bullseyes on every side and pull out my handgun. A  _.45 Adams Third Model_  introduced just a few years ago. I checked to make sure all six cartridge holders in the barrel were full before raising my gun and aiming at the first target, 3 yards away. I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, tightened my grip, and pulled the trigger. I fired in quick succession, hitting the inner rings each time. I reloaded the barrel with six more cartridges and spun around, aiming now for the 5-yard target.

I repeated the process until I was facing the 9-yard target. Anything past 9 yards wouldn't be considered an immediate threat, so this is just to hone my aim. I hit within the first four of six rings, with one stray bullet landing in the sixth ring. I filled my gun with three cartridges, slid it into my waistband and walked around, examining the bullets permanently stuck in the trees from years of practice. The aforementioned butlers and maids all come here at least three times a week, honing their aim and the speed at which they can fire. We all have either an  _Adams II_  or an  _Adams III_ , so the guns can be fired by anyone.

Satisfied with my work, I took a detour through the gardens, so it was past noon when I got back. I passed the kitchen, peeking in to see Henry skillfully cooking up a feast. I smiled and continued on towards the game room. The only games are some checkers boards and used decks of cards. I amuse myself with a few rounds of solitaire.

I'm halfway through the fifth round when the door creaks open. I turn to see a mountain of boxes stumble unsteadily through the door. I rush forward, taking some of the boxes to lighten the poor person's load.

"Wha - Oh! Mary-Clara darling, thank you. You're so helpful!" It's Grace, Henry's wife. There's around 40 years old, childless, and have worked at the mansion since a little before Carlotta was born.

"Oh yes, perfect, right on that table, wonderful. Thank you, dear! That was quite the heavy load, goodness. What's that? What's in the boxes?" she sighs, "Oh, some of Master's old things. Mistress must have had them packed up and stored away. Can't blame the woman, grief is. Such a strong emotion, but . . . well, anyways, what are you doing? A card game? Solitaire? Ah yes, a game played solo. I did hear through the old grapevine - you know how the younger maids gossip - that Dana would be on an errand today. I guess I didn't quite make the connection that that meant you'd be mostly by yourself today . . . . mm, okay, well, if you've got nothing better to do, you're more than welcome to help me with my chores! We can get it done in half the time if there are double the hands, and we could get Henry to play some checkers with you afterward."

I nod enthusiastically. Anything is better than just sitting here by myself.

We mop the floors, polish the windows, clean the silverware, and dust the curtains. It wasn't too difficult but I'm sure she had gotten most of her other chores done earlier that day. She talks a little about how she met Henry and their engagement and wedding. I found it to be quite entertaining, I learned a bit about her and Henry, and I liked the way she'd glance at me to see if I wanted to ask a question or was getting bored. It made me feel more respected. Is that the right way to phrase it? Mm . . . .

We enter the kitchen to see Henry atop a stool trying to reach something on the highest shelf. I tug on his pants, waiting until he climbs down before jumping on his back. Henry grunts and Grace chuckles but, scowls right after he attempts to climb the ladder with me on his back.

"Henry, be careful! If you slip, she'll go down with you!" she shouts anxiously. Henry, impatient to get the spice he needs, calls down to her, "If it makes you feel better, there are some flour bags in the corner on your left. Surround the ladder or something to cushion our fall. Not that we're going to." He mutters the last part under his breath.

I'm at the top of the ladder now. I straighten up, just able to reach into the cupboard. I rummage around, trying to find the spice. My fingertips brush against the little bottle, pushing it further back. I'm having to really stretch now. I feel it. I can get it! I just need to . . . got it!

I exhale sharply as I lean backward, pulling the spice out and clenching it tightly in my hand. But I've leaned too far and Henry starts to topple over. We sway on the edge for one heart-stopping moment before he loses his balance and we fall to the ground.

I land on a hard pillow, the impact ripping the bag and a large cloud of flour surrounds me. The spice is still tightly clenched in my hand as I sit up coughing and shield my mouth, attempting to not breathe in the flour-filled air.

" _Henry, what were you thinking?_  Mary-Clara could have gotten seriously hurt.  _You_  could have gotten hurt! You could have broken your back, or your neck, or Marly-Clara's neck, or both your necks!l" Grace frets, dusting flour out of his hair and into his eyes. "Hey!" he shouts indignantly, grabbing a handful of flour and flinging it onto Grace's shirt. She gasps, smirks, and dumps a fresh bag over his head.

I join in, and we proceed to throw flour at each other, lodging it in our hair, mouths, clothes, and everywhere else. It was the most fun I'd had all afternoon.

But we had to clean up afterward, which wasn't quite as fun. Grace instructed me to get some clean clothes on so if Mother came in she wouldn't think I had anything to do with it. I left, changing into those black pants and lavender shirt Dana had picked out for me earlier today, but I kept the jacket, dusting it off the best I could. I left the flour in my hair, liking the whitish-gray streaks much better than the usual brown.

I'd just finished when I heard the door open behind me. I spun around to see Mother close the door with a soft click.


	3. Chapter 3

My palms are suddenly sweaty and warm, and I turned to face her; giving my full attention and respect. She sits on the very edge of my bed, back ramrod straight, and croons a finger at me to come closer.

I step forward - a Herculean effort. When I do, she studies me, from my dirt-caked shoes to the traces of flour in my hair, disgust written in the snarl of her nose and furrow of her brow. She had long-forgotten that this was my father's jacket, so I can usually wear it every day without having to worry about her noticing and demanding its return. But at any moment it could click for her where I got this from - who I got this from . . . I have the intense urge to wrap my hands around the cool, smooth metal of my gun.

"The Earl Phantomhive is arriving today and will be staying all weekend." She announces, shaking her head back to display the flawless hair-do, not a strand out of place. My sister received her golden blonde hair from our mother, but her brown eyes from our father. I got one blue eye from Mother. While it looks strange on me, she looks absolutely breathtaking. And Father was often told so at gatherings and parties, who took it all with a smile and a laugh that never seemed genuine to me.

"This being the first suitor your sister has ever had, you will stay out of the way, mundane and dull so she can properly win him over, is that clear? No fancy dresses. No makeup. Nothing to make you seem even remotely decent in any way. I want you to be as unimportant and ignored as a servant. Do anything to ruin her chances and I will get rid of that stupid horse of yours."

I swore time stopped for a second. I dare to make eye-contact. She leers with gleaming white teeth, "Just stay out of trouble and the horse stays! Understand, mute?"

I nod my head frantically. Like Carlotta, she never bothered to learn sign language.

"However, I do expect you to make  _some_  effort so we don't seem incompetent. But nothing to top Carlotta. I'll see you at dinner." With that, she leaves, the door slamming behind her, shaking the wall.

I take an unsteady breath, pulling out my gun and twisting it over and over again in my hands, trying to find comfort. If I even  _remotely_  mess up this weekend, Dahlia is . . . oh God, what'll they do to her? To her foal? Hurt her? Kill her? Kill  _them_? Would I be able to save the baby at all? What - when - how-

I stop my hands, drop the gun on my bed and enter my closet. I find a simple lavender dress that flairs at the waist and twirls when I walk or spin. I slip my gun into the pocket Dana sowed into the dress for that exact purpose. I look at myself in the mirror, then throw my dad's jacket over it.

I stare at my reflection. My dull brown hair. Bizarre eyes. Zero curves or any sort of appealing body shape.

Mother has nothing to worry about. No boy would ever find a girl like me attractive. I don't stand a chance. Dahlia is safe -  _I_  have nothing to worry about.

I pull my hair out of its braid. It has a slight wave to it. I carefully clip some behind my ear, leaving enough loose so it hides my left eye, so you can only see the blue one. I think I look fine, but I'd best check with Grace first.

I walk to the kitchen again, pushing the doors open. I freeze.

Grace and Henry are kissing.

I slowly back out, glad they don't realize I'm there and close the doors behind me very quietly. I had just stepped away when the door swings open and Grace steps out.

"Oh! MC, I didn't see you, dear," she blinks at my rigid stance sensing a slight discomfort. "Did you see . . . ?"

I nod stiffly.

She gives a small laugh. "Sorry about that, dear. I didn't think anyone would be coming in." She notices what I'm wearing. "Oh, you look lovely! I just adore that shade of purple. But your hair . . ." She swiftly removes the clip, brushing the hair out of my eyes. I shrug away from her, tugging the hair back in place.

She sighs and gets on her knees so we're eye level. Placing both hands on my shoulders, she stares into my eyes. "Mary-Clara. You are beautiful. You have incredible eyes. You shouldn't be afraid of what others will think. You need to embrace them. They are a part of you. People look at your sister and think,  _She's beautiful._  But they have never seen you smile when you win checkers. They have never seen the way your face scrunches up in concentration when firing your revolver. They have never seen the real, true you because you never let them see it.

"Please, try for me to be you this weekend. I know your mother thinks this is all about your sister, but you have a chance, too. You're better than her: you are kind, and caring, and much,  _much_  more."

Henry, who was leaning against the doorframe, comes over and crouches next to her. "She's right. When has your sister helped to make lunch? Never. She never drops by just to see how I'm doing or to give me a smile. She acts like I don't exist. You are different from her in so many ways. So many wonderful ways."

Do they really mean that? Really?

Grace pushes my hair behind my ear. "We really mean it."

I tackle them in a bear hug, planting a kiss on Henry's cheek, and savor the moment, and every second of their love and warmth.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm waiting on the porch with Lauren, the doorman and Dana's brother, for the Phantomhive carriage to pull up. Lauren's job is very dull. He just stands outside all day, opening and closing the doors for whoever. I'd come every so often just so he wouldn't feel lonely. He's a big, burly man with a thick beard and little black specs for eyes. He doesn't say much, so there is no need to fill the silence between us.

I'd just won a round of rock-paper-scissors when a small cloud of dust rose down the road. I pointed to it and Lauren stood at attention, waiting for the carriage to pull up. I hugged my father's jacket tighter around myself.

The carriage came to a stop at the foot of the front steps. The driver, a tall pale man with pitch black hair walked around to open the door of the carriage, and I see a glint of red as he turns. A boy that looked to be my age stepped out. He had a black cloak, navy hair and a cane in his hand. An eye-patch covered his right eye. I self-consciously tugged some hair in my face before remembering Grace and Henry and pushing it back behind my ear.

The boy walked up the steps as his butler grabbed their luggage. I wanted to help, but that wouldn't be exactly lady-like. The boy stopped in front of Lauren.

"Earl of Phantomhive," Lauren began in his deep voice. "Welcome to The Autumnvale Estate. This is the youngest daughter of The Autumnvale family, Mary-Clara Autumnvale."

I dip into a curtsy, a small smile dancing on my lips. So formal.

As I raise my head again, I catch his butler's eyes.

They're  _red_.

One thought becomes a hundred. Was he born with eyes like that? Was he mocked and ridiculed as I am? And did this Earl look past that and see what this butler was really like? Can this Earl see past exteriors? Could he see past my persona and flaws?

"I am Ciel Phantomhive of the Phantomhive Estate," he says to me. "Pleasure to meet you Mary-Clara Autumnvale."

Impulsively, and without thinking, I sign  _MC_  to him.

A look of complete bewilderment overcomes him and feeling that can only be described as horrible realization jolts through me. Why did I just do that? Try to get him to refer to me in a nickname? Mother would think I was trying to get close to him. She might do something to Dahlia for something like that. I cannot afford another thoughtlessly friendly act like that again.

Ciel looks to Lauren for help but he's trying to suppress laughter.

His butler behind him seemed to understand what was going on. "It appears the young lady is mute. Neither of us understands sign language, so this will be a very interesting experience."

"Ah," Ciel frowns, saying it seemingly without thinking.

I gesture inside and let Lauren open the door for us, replying with a small smile. I lead them to the large staircase, stopping at the bottom.

Carlotta makes her grand entrance; gliding down the stairs in a beautiful emerald green dress that seems way too mature for her, careful to keep her balance in her crystal high heels. Her eyes find sees Ciel's and her face splits into a stunning beam. Completely ignoring me she rushes towards Ciel. I glance at him through the corner of my eye. He appears to be in shock; mouth agape and eye wide.

I look away.

"Earl of Phantomhive." Carlotta purred. "Welcome to the Autumnvale Mansion. I am Carlotta Autumnvale."

He got on one knee and kisses her hand. "An honor."

"I see you've already met my younger sister, Mary-Clara," Carlotta says, her tone icy. To him, it must have sounded amused but I can tell she was taunting me in a way I could never taunt back.

"Yes, she was waiting at the door with your doorman," he said, turning back to me. By the way he glanced between us, I could immediately tell he was comparing our features, probably wondering how on earth I'm related to her.

"At the door? Well yes, she does like to spend her free time with the butlers and maids." Carlotta sniffed. "A girl like her shouldn't be wasting her time doing such meaningless things."

I flinched, turning to look out the window.

"Well," she continued. "Let's go eat. I'm sure dinner is already on the table."

My eyes widen. What? But we don't usually have dinner until late! Henry won't be prepared yet! I have to give him more time.

I run in front of her, eyes wide, shaking my head and moving my hands in quick Xs.

"What are you doing?" Ciel asks from behind Carlotta.

I spin in a circle throwing my hands in the air, gesturing to everything.

"Oh! I have an idea!" Carlotta chirps, turning to Ciel. "Why don't I give you a tour of the mansion before dinner? It's so lovely, I know you'll enjoy it!" She grabs his hand, turning and pulling him into such a position his elbow is resting in the curve of her waist and hip. I look away, wondering how many times she'd practiced that move, and my eyes find the pile of luggage.

A maid rushes forward picking up a few suitcases. I bend down, picking up the rest. "Oh, thank you Mary-Clara. You're so thoughtful like that." She smiles, leading the way to the Phantomhive's temporary rooms.

I feel eyes burn the back of my head and I turn around only to see the room empty. Ciel and Carlotta are gone, off to tour the mansion.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry finishes dinner right on time, letting the butlers and maids bring it in. I grab some napkins and slid them halfway under each plate, taking my seat just as the door opens behind me, letting Ciel and Carlotta in.

"And here's the kitchen! Look, the food's already prepared!" Ciel takes a seat across from me and Carlotta plops down directly next to him. "What did you find the most interesting, Ciel?"

I study the food laid out before me. Everything looks good . . . that looks good . . . that looks good . . . wait-is that steak fully cooked?

"Well," Ciel begins. "I think the room with chess boards and such-"

I snap my fingers above my head.

Ciel and Carlotta freeze, looking at me. Ciel confused, Carlotta irritated. His butler appears to be amused.

A nearby butler, summoned by my snap, steps forward to attend to me, but the Phantomhive butler gets here first. "What is it, madam?" he smiles.

I hesitate. I'm not sure on the protocol of telling another's butler what to do, but if he stepped forward, then I'd best just go with it. I point to the steak and mime cutting it, eating it and dying. He looks a bit confused but cuts it open nonetheless. I stand and examine it, noting the redness and steam. It's cooked. I nod to the butler and sit back down, idly twirling a silver knife between my fingers, loving the way the light reflects off it all over the room.

Carlotta tries to make conversation, but Ciel seems a bit disinterested.

Mother arrives not long afterward, introduces herself, then takes a seat right next to me, that being the only available seat left. I tense up, my gun digging into my back. If she knew I had this . . .

She starts with some small talk, "How's your business?", "How's the Estate?", "Did you like the mansion?", but it doesn't take long before she gets to the heart of why he's here.

"So Phantomhive, your fiance moved to Australia?" Mother begins sweetly.

"Yes. I've known her since I was little. I'll miss her . . ."

"Yes, it is a shame," Carlotta says casually. "She must not have known what she was missing out on."

"And you've come here to look for a new fiance?" Mother continues. The sun has set by now and we can only see by the light of the candles burning bright overhead.

"That is correct. I must find a new one soon or my title as the Queen's Guard dog could be tarnished."

Carlotta gasps, acting like this was news to her. "You're the Queen's Guard dog!? That job sounds dangerous! You're so very brave!"

I snort loudly, earning a few glances. I try to cover it with a cough but my smile stays. A wolf howls in the distance.

"And how many other young lady's houses have you visited to find a new fiance?" Mother asks casually.

"Oh, just a few. They were all rather dull." He replied while cutting his steak.

"I see." Mother smirks, her and Carlotta sharing a look that Ciel didn't catch.

"So what do you like to do in your spare time?" Carlotta asks.

"Unfortunately, I never have any spare time. I'm too busy going on errands for the Queen."

I frown. No spare time? That doesn't sound like an enjoyable job. A wolf howls again, a bit closer. I entertain myself thinking about how maybe the second wolf was answering the first wolf, communicating through howls. I wonder what they're talking about...

I snap back to reality to see Carlotta place a hand on Phantomhive's arm and say sympathetically, "That sounds horrible. I'm so very sorry. I can't imagine the terrible things you've gone through."

I blink a few times, completely lost. What did I miss?

"It's okay," he says. "I rebuilt the mansion where the old one was. It looks exactly the same. I made it look old even though it was built a few years ago."

Still lost.

She gave him a flirtatious smile. "Oh, it sounds wonderful! I'd just love to see the inside someday. Perhaps I could come visit soon?" A few more wolves howled.

I frowned, looking out the window. Why are so many wolves gathering? Are they hunting something? Isn't that how they communicate with each other, through howls and barks?

Do they smell Dahlia?

No - wait! It's okay, they can't get to her. They'd never get past the barn door-

The barn door.

I never closed it.

**Ciel's POV**

Lady Carlotta had just asked me how much money I make when Lady Mary-Clara's fork slipped from her fingers and landed with a sharp clatter on her plate. Lady Carlotta and Lady Auntumvale jump at the noise.

"Oh Mary-Clara, what's gotten into you?" Lady Autumnvale gasped, placing a hand over her heart.

Lady Mary-Clara stands up, knocking her chair back and makes a break for the door.

"Sebastian," I call, standing up.

She races through the door, dress billowing out around her.

"Oh, sit down Phantomhive." Carlotta smiles, looking up at me and placing a hand on my arm. "You needn't worry about her, she must have an upset stomach and needs a moment. Let her go."

I frown at the girl next to me. "She did look rather pale . . ." Lady Carlotta yanks me back into my seat.

Only a few minutes of awkward silence pass before the doorman came in, Mary-Clara unconscious in his arms.

"Mistress," he says to the mother, "She tried to leave but I couldn't find any reason as to why. The wolves howling in the night and I deemed unsafe for her to be out this late, so I tried to persuade her to come back in. She refused and put up a fight and I had no choice but to knock her unconscious. What shall I do with her by your orders, Mistress?"

Lady Autumnvale sighs, finding this merely troublesome. "Put her in her room. She'll wake around dawn, and her butler should be back by then to translate. Continue guarding the door though, those wolves you mentioned might smell this feast and decide to pay a visit."


	6. Chapter 6

**Mary-Clara's POV**

Ugh . . .

What happened?

I remember running . . . and Lauren knocked me out . . . but why-

Dahlia.

I jump off my bed. No one else is in here, just me and a flickering candle. It's still night, but how much time did I waste? How long was I out?

I start to change out of my dress and into some trousers and my father's jacket. I need to get to her, now! She can't defend herself when with a baby!

I brush my fingers against my gun, allowing myself one moment of cool relief to flood through me at its familiar touch before throwing open the door, beginning the march to the entrance. I pass no one on the way. What time is it? Midnight? Two? Too late?

I turn the corner to see Lauren standing guard in front of the door. His eyes widen when he sees me. An irrational sense of anger towards him clenches my heart, and I keep walking.

"MC! I'm sorry, but I can't let you out. I don't know why you want to get out but you need to stay inside! I heard wolves and-" I tried to walk past him so he grabbed the back of my jacket.

My  _father's_  jacket.

I spin around, whipping out my handgun and pulling the trigger. The bullet misses his head by less than an inch.

But I meant to miss.

I stare into his eyes, pure determination in my own. He collapses on the ground, cupping the part of skin the bullet almost touched. He's probably in shock

I feel guilt start to build in my lower chest but I force myself to ignore it, turning and storming outside into the pitch black darkness of the night.

**Ciel's POV**

A gunshot.

I stumble out the door and run in the direction I heard it coming from. "Sebastian?"

"Yes my lord?" he says, right behind me.

"Who fired the gunshot?"

"Mary-Clara, my lord."

I stop in my tracks, turning to look at Sebastian. "Mary-Clara? She shot a gun? For what reason does she have to shoot a gun at this time of night?"

He gestures ahead of me. I push open the door and walk into the front entryway.

The door is wide open, a window opposite it shattered. The doorman is sitting against a wall being soothed by another butler. He appears to be in shock. Lady Carlotta is standing there in her ruffled nightgown, her back to me. Her mother is nowhere to be seen.

"I can't believe this," she growls, her voice steadily rising to a shout. "I can't  _believe_  this! Mary-Clara goes and fires off a bloody  _gun_   _in the middle of the night_  and she didn't even die! Mother sleeps with wax in her ears, so she gets plenty of beauty sleep, but  _me? ME?!_  NO! Mary-Clara  _knows_ I don't sleep with wax, so she  _purposefully_ shot off that gun to wake me up, get me all upset, mess up my sleep cycle so I'll wake up groggy and have no time to do my makeup!  _And then that Phantomhive brat will think I'm not attractive enough to be his wife and he'll take some other_ bitch _as his fiancé, and_ _I'll have lost my first chance at getting myself a good, rich life, all because MARY-BLOODY-CLARA SHOT A GUN OFF FOR NO BLOODY REASON!_ "

I watch, disgusted, as a nearby butler offers her a pitcher of ice water and a glass. "Oh, yes, thank you." She slowly pours herself a glass, placing the pitcher back on the tray. She stares into the water for a moment before hurtling the glass at the butler's head.

Sebastian catches the glass and all of the water before it can hit the butler, who has dropped the tray to raise his hands in defense, which Sebastian also catches.

Carlotta gasps, her face paling with panic as she sees me standing in the other doorway. "CIEL!! I mean - Phantomhive -  _Earl_  Phantomhive - I sincerely apologize! I - I did not know what I was saying! The - the gunshot had me dreadfully spooked, a-and . . . um . . ." she chances an uncertain smile.

I lock eyes with Sebastian and nod. He turns and moves to hand the glass back to Carlotta, but his hand slips, and the icy cold water is flung from the glass onto her front.

A shrill shriek escapes her lips, and she flees the room.

I survey the butlers all staring at us before swiveling around and making my way back to my guest room. "Sebastian?"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Follow Mary-Clara and be sure she remains within the Auntumnvale property. I don't know where's she's going, but a runaway, while I'm on the premises, could do further damage to my reputation and cause more problems than we need."

"Yes, my lord." I don't need to glance behind to know he's already gone.

**Mary-Clara's POV**

The fact that's it's pitch black doesn't mess up my sense of direction - I know the way to the stables by heart. But it does mess up my mind.

Every shadow, every leaf rustling, every branch shaking is a wolf, or a gunman, or a demon, or -

The list goes on, my imagination giving me goosebumps, and a strange prickly feeling at my nape.

I make it to the stables without incident, and see the doors wide open, light flooding out. I run forward to see . . .

Dahlia.

And her foal.

ALIVE.

My lungs empty the anxiety from my system, feeling the trembling of my adrenaline-fueled muscles as they relax.

I watch Dahlia lick her foal clean. She must have given birth just a few minutes ago, though the placenta is gone already. I'm guessing she ate it. That's okay, it's packed full of nutrients and won't harm her. I replace the hay with some clean layers from the corner. It isn't until after they fall asleep I stand to leave.

A twig snaps outside.

That's all it takes for the fear from earlier to surge back with such intensity you'd have thought it knew this would happen and was waiting in the back of my mind for its chance. I've already got my gun in my hands and twist to aim it at the stable entrance.

Nothing.

I walk, step by painstaking step, toward the outside. Were the wolves out there? Could they smell me? Could they see me? Was I about to die? Would I be able to protect Dahlia and her foal? Would they die, too?

I freeze in the doorway, my silhouette stretched out on the gravel - a lone shadow surrounded by light.

A pair of yellow eyes, low to the ground, races right for me.

I turn, slamming the door shut and throwing the bolt in place. A loud thud and a shuddering of the door tells me the wolf body-slammed it. It starts growling, scratching at the door. The sounds triples - no,  _the whole pack is out there!_

That bolt is old and rusted. It won't hold forever.

The sudden urge to fall to the ground and start sobbing is so strong it holds me in place for a good ten seconds. I sniff once and shakily slip my gun away, grabbing the nearest hay bale and drag it in front of the door. I do this to a few others, stacking some of the oldest wood and windows. The wolves start howling, scaring Dahlia and her foal. Scaring me. I gratefully pull my pistol out again, lean against the back wall and anxiously wait for the door to break down.

Or for them to leave.

Whichever comes first.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sebastian's POV**

I follow the young master's orders, tailing Lady Mary-Clara until she reaches the stables. The stink of a newborn foal and its mother reaches my nose even from the shadows.

I see her breathe a sigh of relief when it becomes quite clear they  _aren't_  dead.

And then the pack of wolves surrounding the stables start to close ranks.

I see her head twitch as one of the wolves snaps a twig. She pulls out the pistol she used used on the Doorman. A six-shot revolver, the newest model.

Does she carry that everywhere?

The closest wolf runs at her only to slam into the doors. They all advance and start scratching at the door and making irritating growling noises.

I hear her moving thing around, probably piling things against the door. But they could always dig underneath the stable.

In all honesty, I'd love to be rid of these horrid canines.

So I pounced on one, slitting its throat with one of the knives I'd snatched earlier, and leaping back into the shadows before those other beasts realized I was amidst them.

It toppled over, not a drop of blood hitting the ground. A clean cut, not a single artery or vein was opened. The other wolves noticed immediately and start howling, mourning their fallen comrade.

It takes a while, but they all finally go their separate ways. I had guessed right: the dead one was the pack leader. They would all probably find a new pack to join.

Well, my work here was done. Mary-Clara would return to the mansion in the morning when she'd deemed it safe enough.

I headed back to the mansion, sensing a carriage pulling up to the front doors.

**Mary-Clara's POV**

I woke to a quiet dawn. And a foal sniffing my face.

I smiled at him. Him? I peeked under his legs. Yeah, him. He had the same walnut coat as Dahlia, but where her white blaze is is a dark black streak. My hand moved rhythmically over it, feeling the soft hairs bend under my palm.

I should probably give him a name. Maybe . . . I thought about Dahlia's name's meaning and smiled.

I traced  _Acteon_ on his back.

He licked my hand, so I think he approved.

I got up, dusting off my trousers and father's jacket. I slowly pulled the hay bales away from the door, opening it slowly.

Nothing!

I closed the stable door after waving goodbye to Dahlia and Acteon. As I walked I thought about what today would be like. I imagined Dana telling me my schedule. 'Well, first you must apologize as best you can to Lauren. Once that's done, you'll face interrogation by your Mother about last night. Then you'll be called horrendous names by your sister. And over dinner Ciel will propose to Carlotta and you'll tell this wretched tale to myself, who missed it all.' I passed under a tree, shivering in the sudden cold.

A wolf lunged from the bushes to my left, latching it's teeth onto my arm. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

Like always.

The wolf let go, backing away a few feet. Fire danced through my arm, warm blood dripping down my wrist and fingertips. I pull out my gun with my right hand, holding it only with one arm.

The wolf froze, it's mouth red with my blood. The wolf eyed the blood on my arm, then the gun. The blood. The gun.

Oh please leave. Please, don't make me shoot you.

The blood. The gun. The blood. The gun.

It takes a step forward.

The blood.

I take a step back.

The gun.

It lunges at me.

I pull the trigger.

The wolf dies instantly, a hole through its head. But that doesn't stop its momentum. It crashes into me, knocking me off my feet and tumbling across the ground. I roll to a painful stop, hugging my wounded arm to my body. God, it hurts so much. All the pebbles on the ground get into the wound. This is not good. I have to stop the bleeding, too much blood lose equals death. But with what? I'm not taking off my trousers or-

Father's jacket. I have to use his jacket.

I hesitate, then struggle out of it, wincing when it gets stuck on the torn skin. Using my good hand and teeth I rip the fabric and tie it around the wound. Now I need to get back before any of its friends smell the blood and come.

I pick up my pistol, holding it loosely in my right hand and cradle my bad arm to my stomach. I walk past the dead wolf's body, turning away at the sight of the wound.

I go slowly, much more alert than before. The pain in my arm keeping me focused.

I eventually make it to the mansion, climbing up the steps to the top. Lauren isn't there, now I feel really bad. I regret shooting at him like that. Sure, he's shot a gun before but he's never been shot  _at_. To be honest, neither have I.

I push open the doors, freezing at the sight before me.

At least a third of the entire staff of butlers and maids working at the mansion are here, wearing boots and pants and hats and scarves. Some have small bags on them full of sandwiches and water. Each is holding their gun in their hand.

Dana is the first to notice me.

"MARY-CLARA! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?! YOU CAN'T GO AROUND SHOOTING AT PEOPLE, THAT'S NOT OKAY  _AT ALL_! WHERE ON EARTH DID YOU GO??" she shouts, marching forward and grabbing me by the shoulder, her long hair freed from its braids and pulled into a low ponytail at her nape. I have never felt so comforted to be yelled at by her.

I sign  _Stable_  at her as Henry, Grace, Clarence, Sarah, Joseph-Thomas, and Ethel all gather around me.

She rolls her golden eyes. "I understand you wanted to be there for Dahlia when she had her foal but that's not an excuse to shatter a bloody  _window_!"

I sign  _Wolf-Eat-Horse_.

She sucks in a breath. "A wolf?"

I hold up my right fist, uncurling each finger one at a time until all my fingers are straight.

"F-five!? There was a whole pack of wolves?" I nod. She notices the blood-stained cloth around my arm.

"Wha - did a wolf attack you?" I nod again, wincing as she moves to take off the fabric.

Her body exhales, and she gives a kind of exhausted half-smile. "You are aware you risked your life for the sake of your horse and her unborn foal, right?"

I blink a few times and slowly nod, turning to the huge crowd before us. I point to them and throw a questioning look Dana's way.

She chuckles, "Well, I got back this morning and Lauren told me how you'd run away. The whole mansion knew of course, hearing the gunshot last night, we were all worried sick. We were just about to leave the mansion to look for you."

I stare at them. So many of them? They were going to leave to look for me? I sign  _Why_  to Dana, utterly confused.

"Oh MC," she sighs, "You spend so much time with these people, just being around us, that we consider you one of our own. To live in this wicked mansion without knowing you're just around the corner, a smile on your face, would be terrible! These people care for you MC, we really do."

They all nod. I lunge forward and tackle her in a hug, trying to fight back tears. I don't need a fiance to love.

These people surrounding me. They love me.


	8. Chapter 8

They eventually disperse to get changed into their regular clothes and continue their work. Dana directs me to where Lauren was, leaning against the wall. I apologized as best I could. He understood when Dana explained to him and he forgave me.

"Okay," Dana whispers, "Here comes the hard part. Your mother is in the next room. You ready?"

I take a shaky breath and nod.

Carlotta and Mother are there. Carlotta, with bags under her eyes, glares disgustedly at me. Mother doesn't look up.

She stands up.

She walks over to us, circling us like a hawk circles its prey. But strangely, I was the one with the gun.

"So," she drawls, "Last night you chose to leave. At midnight. Waking your poor sister and our guests with a  _gunshot_ , along with shattering a window.  _What_ , may I ask, was so important that you simply could not wait until morning?"

I hung my head, listening to Dana explain. "And how did you know the wolves would attack your horse without fault?"

I hesitated, then signed  _Didn't_. "She didn't know for sure that they would attack Dahlia," Dana whispers.

"I see. So you left on a whim?"

I nod. "Yes," Dana whispered.

Mother stops circling us, turning to face us directly.

She smiles, "Actually this couldn't have worked out better. Do you know how much a new window costs?" I shake my head.

Her smile grows wider. "About the same as a horse and her foal."

You know how you might miss a step on the stairs, and your stomach seems to vanish. That's how I reacted, except my  _entire_  insides vanished. My blood stopped. I don't remember breathing.

She spins around and walks back to the table. "What? No!" Dana starts, speaking for herself now. "Madam, you can't! Separating a mother from its foal could do horrendous damage to both of them!" Mother picks up a knife. Dana doesn't notice. "And taking those two away from MC? She cares about them more than herself! She proved that last night! That wound on her arm is from a wolf that attacked her! How can you just-"

_~SLICE~_

I clap a hand over my mouth, staring in horror. Dana's hair, her beautiful black hair I admired so much was lying on the ground in a lifeless puddle. Mother stood behind her, knife in hand, an impassive look on her face. She had cut the ponytail short, leaving less than an inch left in it. Several jagged strands were already slipping out.

Dana, surprised, reached back, feeling her hair. "There," Mother sighs. "I've already found a buyer, and backing out would give the Autumnvale's a bad name. Now take Mary-Clara and clean that little scratch before she gets any blood on the floors. They are  _expensive_."

Dana, with a light in her eyes I'd never seen before, grabs my good hand and marches us back to my room. We halt in front of the door, neither of us saying anything.

I manage to sign  _Sorry_ , knowing I should say more, but unable to. If I had a stomach still, I'm sure guilt would be eating away at it.

She chuckles, too forced. "It's okay," she says. "I was needing a haircut anyways. You head on in, sit on your bed and wait for me, I'll get some supplies to aid your wound."

I nod, watch her retreating back turn the corner before heading into my room. The candle from last night is still burning bright. I softly close the door behind me and shuffle to my bed.

A shadow moves.

I whirl around, too slow. The person wraps their hand around my windpipe, lifting me up off the ground. My lungs start to burn for air. My pistol slips from my numbing fingers. Manic laughter fills my head.

I open my mouth to call for help, or to cuss at him, but as always, nothing comes out.

Black spots dance before my eyes, I claw at the man's hand weakly. I'm not going to make it. I suppose I never was.

Light floods the room as the door opens. Something is dropped and makes a loud clattering sound. It must be Dana with the tray.

Just before I passed out, I dimly registered a gunshot and a gasp.

The gasp came from Dana.

___________________________________

Ugh.....

My throat . . . my  _arm_  . . .

I snort and weakly push myself up. I'm lying in bed, the morning light touching every corner of the room.

I lick my lips sleepily. Where's Dana?

 _Dana_.

My heart takes off at light speed. The man. Is he still in my room?

No, this is a different room.

I scramble into trousers and a shirt but spend a few moments looking for father's jacket before I remember I shredded it. I glance at my arm, my pulse as loud as thunder in my ears. Someone must have cleaned and stitched it because it's wrapped in an actual bandage now. I slip my gun into my waistband.

Sprinting, I race to the breakfast area again. I throw open the doors, panting and scan the room.

Carlotta. Mother.

No Dana.

I feel my knees it the floor a second after my heart does. That man - he couldn't have - is Dana -  _my_ Dana - because of  _me_ -?

"Mary-Clara, don't just sit on the ground like that after wrenching the doors open with such  _vigor_. What on earth is wrong?" I lock onto Mother, who is watching me, unblinking, and I am hoping, begging,  _pleading_  with my eyes that she'll tell me Dana is alive tell me Dana is alive tell me she is alive she has to be alive.

" _Oh yes_ , that was quite the surprise, walking in to see you passed out, half-strangled and Dana with a bullet wound. I'm rather disappointed the man didn't finish you off. Though I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky. If the Phantomhive butler hadn't done away with that man he would have come after Carlotta and me next. No matter." Mother says carelessly.

Tears prick the corner of my eyes, though I know the floodwaters behind the dam will burst if the truth gets through. Dana's dead? No. No no no no  _no_ , she can't be. She - she can't be  _gone_ , she was all I had.

"Oh, it was horrible!" Carlotta shudders. "That much blood! Yuck! I'm just glad it didn't stain the floors, really. Imagine that - then we'd have to get new floors! Oh, but they're bamboo, and they aren't being sold anymore! They were  _expensive_!"

Not all the words in sign language - no, not even all the words in the English language could have described the pure hatred I felt at that moment. The switch in emotional states was so sudden I didn't even process it at the time.

She notices my intensity. "Oh, don't bother standing up for yourself, mute. You couldn't lay a hand on me anyways! The butlers by the walls would stop you before you got close enough. Their paycheck depends on it, and we both know it's only human nature to be selfish." I stand up and walk over to her. "I'm the exception, of course, when all you care about is  _yourself_! You just wanted to look good for the Phantomhive Earl, that's why you went to the stables and got yourself hurt: to make yourself look more desirable. That's why you act like you're mad at me for insulting your worthless, good-for- _nothing_  butler:  _as if you could have feelings. As if you're_ _ **normal**_ -"

Mother's selling Dahlia. Dana is gone. I have nothing to lose.

I slam my fist into her cheekbone,  _snapping_  her head to the side and earning  _the most_ _satisfying_  crack I've ever heard.

Silence.


	9. Chapter 9

The door opens. A familiar voice fills the room. "I can walk on my own."

**Dana's POV**

"Sebastian, you don't need to do this," I protest as we walk (he walks, I limp) down the hall to the breakfast room, his arm around my back to support me.

"I know, but you were shot, and I don't expect it to heal immediately." He gives a guarded smile.

He pushes the door open with his free hand as I frown, "I can walk on my own."

A small body slams into mine, knocking me out of Sebastian's grip. I stumble backward, trying to keep my balance. I look down to see MC, her face buried in my stomach and her arms wrapped around me. My shirt starts to soak up water.

I push her an arm's length away, squatting so I can meet her tearful eyes. Ice shoots through my veins, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

She smiles and signs something that melts the ice.

_I love you._

**MC's POV**

_I love you_ , I sign, feeling so light I could have floated up through the air.

A white-hot fire pierces my arm as sharp nails dig into my bandaged wound, yanking me to the ground. "You filthy ass, you think you canpunch my daughter and get away with it?" I try to get back up but my muscles won't cooperate.

"MC, are you okay?" Dana frets, rushing in to help me, "You haven't eaten anything at all, not for days," she gently grabs my good arm, starting to cautiously pull me up. "Come here, we'll go into the kitchen and -"

Mother lifts up her skirt just enough to drive the sharp heel of her shoe straight against the bandage covering Dana's bullet wound. Her grip on my arm falls away as she braces herself against the floor, inhaling in shock. A desperate desire to take her pain away - to make her wound heal - overcomes me. I want to take my gun and give to her in the hopes she'll feel the same comfort I do.

"What kind of butler are you?" Mother questions. "My daughter is going to get a bruise and you're worried about what that bloody thing had to eat? Get off the floor and get her some ice."

I freeze, waiting for Dana to walk away. She has closed her eyes and seems to be struggling with something. The silence stretches on. Her bandage starts turning red.

Dana mumbles something. My breath catches at her tone.

"What was that?" Mother asks, her voice daring Dana to repeat it.

Dana's head snaps up and locks onto Mother's eyes. "I said no. Your other daughter will pass out from malnutrition and dehydration if we don't get her something to eat or drink. She has had a traumatizing weekend and desperately needs some relaxation and comfort and the knowledge that she is safe. She won't get that in this mansion. Here, her friends are the horses, her family the servants! She is one of the loneliest children I've ever met, and what's worse is she feels she deserves all the terrible things you do and say to her because you've warped her brain into thinking it's all true. She is kinder and sweeter and more thoughtful than anyone I've ever met, and you are too superficial and self-invested to see it, to appreciate it."

Mother's entire demeanor has shifted, from one of taunting to true rage. "I never gave you leave to tell me your opinion on how I run my house. I am her mother, you're just her butler, and I have more than half a mind to fire you right now."

Fire races through me, enough to get me up on my feet and in front of Dana. I signed something and pointed to Dana. The air near my right ear disappeared into her sharp intake of breath.

"She - what did she say?" Mother snarls.

Dana's gold eyes bore into mine. "She said I'm her mother."

I turn to face Mother, meeting her crazed ice blue eyes, so piercing they could have stabbed a hole right through my head. Her hair has strayed from its bun and floats around her face in a wild mange, and her bright red lipstick stands out like blood against her lips, twisted into a grimace.

I feel many things right now. Fear is not one of them.

Until her hand shoots out and digs deep into my arm, sending me straight back to the moment with the wolf. Acid enflames my wound, scorching the nerves and burning the blood. I pinch my eyes shut, trying to stop the flow of tears leaking from my heart and out my eyes. My thoughts go straight to my gun, but there is no doubt I could ever use it on her. She may hate me, but she wouldn't try and kill me.

"I am your mother, but you are not my daughter. You are a freak born, unwanted, into this otherwise perfect family. If Cole was still alive then we might be truly perfect. You, you are useless, and a runt, and a  _freak_ , who does not know how to even simply communicate, running off to waste your life and ruin our reputation as the Autumnvales, without a thought for anyone else but yourself!"

She throws me backward, the sheer force slamming my head to the ground. Black crawls into my vision, eating at my sight, stripping me of consciousness, of any chance of fighting back. The last thing I recall are a pair of arms cradling me.

Maybe I don't have to fight back. Maybe I could just sleep in my mother's embrace and listen to her heartbeat as my wounds heal and my eyes dry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Dana's POV**

MC is thrown to the floor, her head hitting the ground with a sickening thud. I move through the pain in my leg and let the panic pulsing in my veins push me forward to cradle her limp body. Blood is seeping from somewhere on her scalp, turning her hair red.

Mistress steps closer to us, and I instinctively wrap myself around MC, shielding her from the wretched woman. My leg is still screaming, and I can't move away from the approaching threat. MC's gun bumps my arm, and I consider grabbing it. I have my own, too, but I've never had to use it. I don't ever want to.

"Don't help the traitorous thing, go tend to yourself and let her bleed to death," Mistress instructs, seeming to whole-heartedly expect me to comply.

"You leave her alone now," my voice breaks and trembles, but I can't help it: the water obscuring my line of sight is causing the heaving in my chest. "She's never done anything to upset or provoke you,  _ever_ , and she is beaten down and broken because of it. If you do one more thing,  _one more thing_  to hurt her, I will reveal you, destroy the Aumtumnvale name, and you will be ruined."

I see Mistress freeze, assessing my determination and the truth behind the threat, before reaching out slowly for an item on the table. Carlotta gasps and backs away. The gun seems so cold, it's like ice to my skin.

"You think I'd let someone like you leave here alive, knowing what you know, seeing what you've seen? You can't even run away - this won't take more than a second. Carlotta, close your eyes and cover your ears." Mistress rushes at us, silver flashing in her fist, silver aimed at MC's and my hearts.

I turn, trying my best to protect as much of MC as I can, waiting for the blow, and the blood, and the pain.

It never comes.

I slowly raise my head, seeing in a new light the situation of the room. Sebastian has her arm in a death lock, a calm smile on his unmoving face, in such juxtaposition to her shocked and panicked look it's almost comical.

I turn my head at the click-click-click of the Phantomhive Earl's cane against the floor. He's striding in through the door, completely at ease. Was he just now entering? Was he watching what was happening?

"I think that's quite enough now, Lady Autumnvale," he drawls, reaching up and removing the long steak knife from her hand. "Your guests are still here, and it'd be rather rude to attempt a murder with them still present, would it not?

"But you needn't worry much about us, as I've made my decision and will be leaving shortly."

"Wh - what?" Mistress blinks, stepping back warily after Sebastian releases her, eyeing the knife just out of arms reach. "What decision?"

The Earl stops and stares at for a moment as if she asked why the sun rises. "The decision regarding my new fiance. The entire reason for my visit. That decision."

Mistress is, if possible, in more shock now than she was before. "Your . . . fiance? You've decided?"

He nods curtly. "Yes, I have, precisely." He pivots and walks toward us.

I clutch MC tighter as he approaches, feeling her head injury start to soak into my jacket. He leans down and brushes the hair out of her face, observing with interest the blood on his glove's fingertips as a result. "I have chosen MC as my new fiance."

He meets my eyes. "Everything you said was true, wasn't it?"

"Every word," I mumble through numb lips.

"What?!" Carlotta cries, "Why?! Why would you ever choose her over me? I know how to act like a proper lady - I would be the perfect wife, I would never do anything to risk tarnishing the Phantomhive name! She cares about no one but herself, she'll  _ruin_  you! Why would you choose her?"

"Because," The Earl starts, "she has surprised me so many times in such a short amount of time I'm left in the dust. Breathless, blind and lost. She has shown loyalty by standing up for her butler. Bravery by facing down one much stronger and powerful than herself. Love when she ran at midnight to her horses, knowing fully well she could have been attacked by wolves. Kindness when she stood outside with the doorman, just sharing the same air as him so he wouldn't be lonely. Logic when she steered us away from dinner to give the chef more time to cook, realizing it was early and the food wouldn't yet be ready." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "And self-pity when you walked down those stairs in a beautiful dress, where she had on something much simpler."

He turned his gaze back to them. "The only way that she would have ever felt self-pity with those traits is if you'd put her down, telling her she's not deserving of a good home, a good life.  _So_ , for the safety of my fiance's sanity, I will be taking her back to the Phantomhive estate with me. She will live with me until she comes of age, where she'll be free to move out if she chooses."

He turns after his speech and begins to walk out. Sebastian clears his throat, and the Earl turns back to us again. "Oh, and I'll be taking her personal butler and horses with me. My fiance must be happy and satisfied."

"B-but the horses," Mistress stutters, Sebastian gone now, "we already found a buyer. An anonymous call just came in offering a surplus of money, it's already been confirmed-"

"Yes," he sighs, "that was Finny."

"Who?"

"He is the caretaker of my mansion. He keeps the gardens and lawns weeded and luscious." He turns to me. "Please come with me . . . uh-"

"Dana Rowe, sir," I say as I try to stand. My knees give out and I start to fall, Sebastian behind me to support me, slipping MC out of my arms and into his own.

He smiles, "You should have listened; I told you that leg was going to take healing, didn't I?"

"You did," I recalled. I can feel his arm through his coat the same way I could feel the gun. And they're both the same temperature.

I don't look back as we exit the breakfast hall. Sebastian hands MC to Lauren at the door so I can go back in and get some of MC's clothes.

I get to her room, tearing open a bag and throwing in her favorite shirts, pants, trousers, undergarments, etc. I bury the cartridges and spare revolver parts under her piles of clothes, buttoning up the bag and swinging it over my shoulder and limping to the doors again. I'm sure they have clothes at the mansion for me, and all my personal belongings are with Lauren, who I know will keep them safe and secure for me.

As I enter the chamber connected to the main doorway, I see two other figures, laden with bags and hand-in-hand approach the door as well.

"Henry? Grace? Where are you going?" I ask, pausing against a wall to catch my breath as they both turn to me.

"Oh, Dana!" Henry laughs. "We've decided to quit."

"You have? I'm assuming it's because MC'll be gone."

"That's right," Grace smiles.

"Well, what are you planning on doing now?"

"We plan to start a restaurant, but it'll be hard work, and slow progress," Henry scratches the back of his head, holding up their intertwined fingers in a show of trust, "but we'll have each other, so I have no doubt it'll all work out."

I smile, nodding and hugging them both. "Good luck to you, then. I hope to visit someday!"

"Definitely!" Grace calls, disappearing out the doors.

I turn and stare for a moment at the broken window across the room before picking up MC's bag and stepping into the sunlight.

We're all in the carriage, except for Sebastian, who is driving, and Ciel is across from MC, while I am next to her. She's still unconscious.

"I hope she'll be okay. It's been such an insane week for her...." I mutter, reaching back and feeling the lump already starting to form on her head. It's not huge, but it'll be sore, that's certain.

"She'll be okay," The Earl reassures. "She needs rest and food, both of which she'll have plenty.

I wonder what MC'll think when she hears all of this.


End file.
